


Reverse

by kifiyathewriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Doctor Draco, F/M, Healer Draco, M/M, Mystery, Noir Detective kind of, Nottpott, Ronald Weasley mentioned - Freeform, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kifiyathewriter/pseuds/kifiyathewriter
Summary: When a number of his patients begin to die from a mysterious ailment, Draco Malfoy goes on a mission to seek out the source and unwittingly uncovers a dark truth.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 22
Collections: DFW Tropes Fest: Double Trouble





	Reverse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MykEsprit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/gifts).



> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction, and any/all elements of Harry Potter do not belong to me.
> 
> I’d like to give a huge shoutout to MykEsprit for hosting this fest, anne_ammons and Iforgottocall for their constant support and granger_danger and megamegaturtle for their kind words and guidance.

DFW TROPES FEST - DOUBLE TROUBLE: “Reverse”

Prompt: Healer Draco & Noir Detective

Draco walked from the cloyingly sterile air of the hospital and onto the awaiting streets of muggle London. That’s right, muggle London and a muggle hospital where he happened to work. After the war, he’d tried his damndest to fade into the background of wizarding society, until the effort began to eat away the little sanity he had remaining. That was when he’d first tested the waters and learned of the promise anonymity in the muggle world could bring. There, he was a nobody, and for once, he couldn’t find fault with such a designation.

  
Soon enough, he grew bored of his life of little purpose and quickly rectified the situation. An acquaintance, muggle if you must know, helped him to sign on for night classes offered through a local university. Draco took to the material with a voracity he’d not possessed since his early Hogwarts days. Perhaps it was that education, whether it be muggle or magical, offered him a sense of familiarity, Draco was uncertain, but he flew through the lessons at a breakneck pace. Now, six years in, he was often left in charge of A&E, which he considered a bit of an accomplishment with being so young. Not that many of his coworkers were thrilled with taking orders from an admittedly arrogant twenty something. To be fair, the boost in status was a more recent development.

  
About eighteen months ago, Draco began to notice a string of similarities in patients being brought into hospital, during his shifts. At first, he thought it merely coincidence that each patient presented with similar, if not identical, symptoms. What began as memory loss progressed until the patient was in such a deteriorated state and screaming as though they were living in the midst of a nightmare, only then succumbing to their collective illness. He tried to pass his finding off to the head of neurology, but the codger didn’t seem to find anything suspicious. His suggestion was that perhaps the symptoms were caused by some sort of hallucinogenic drug. Something with that theory didn’t sit right with Draco. Sure, it was possible that the muggles could develop a drug of that sort, but the victimology was all over the place, each patient possessing remarkably different characteristic features from the next. With no progress being made and patients still being admitted, he made the decision to seek assistance from the local authorities. Oddly enough, in Draco’s most trying days since the war, who would happen to pop into his life, none other than Hermione Granger.

  
Draco couldn’t lie; well that wasn’t true. He was actually quite adept at lying. Regardless, having Hermione enter his life again was, in the beginning, rather awkward. After all, what did one say to the girl you’d spent your formative years bullying? What did you say to the girl you’d watch be tortured in your own home? It soon became apparent that there was much more to say than Draco thought possible. He started with a fumbled but heartfelt apology for his many misdeeds and wrongdoings. Granger, was unsurprisingly forgiving, if not cavalier about the whole thing. Let bygones be bygones and such, or so she’d said. He was fine with that. Their awkward new beginning led to the forming of a tenuous friendship. The two of them often found a variety of ways to occupy their time together. Though he wasn’t keen to admit it, he’d become rather fond of her.

  
These last few months had proved eye opening for Draco. He’d learned so much about Hermione Granger, so much that was a stark contrast to who he thought his former classmate was. Sure, she was never without a book, but he noticed that her tastes spanned a great many subjects. One day she could be reading Proust, while the next she had her nose buried in the writings of Wilhelm Wundt. He’d even caught her rifling through his medical texts, not that he minded. Her mind was sharp as ever. Far be it from him to put a stop to the speeding train that was Hermione Granger’s brain.

  
Draco glanced at his watch and realized that, if he hurried, he’d have a solid thirty-five minutes to spend with her. Without another thought, he drew his thick winter coat tightly around himself to ward off the early December chill and picked up his pace, as he approached the side alley of the small rundown theater situated not far from the hospital. He opened the door halfway, knowing that any further would result in a loud creaking noise that would be sure to distract the members on stage, which would possibly cause them to revoke the conditional admittance they’d granted him and Granger. They’d not yet attended an actual production put on by the theater. No, rather, they reserved their clandestine little meetings for times such as these, when he was on break from his many rounds of patients and she seeking freedom from the mountains of paperwork her ministry job so kindly afforded. He mentally rolled his eyes; they made quite the pair, one could be certain.

  
Once his vision adjusted to the limited lighting, Draco spotted her, seated third seat in of the fourth row from the back of the theater. He didn’t need to see her to know where she'd be, where she always was. He walked to her with quiet, sure steps, until he was able to slide into the once plush and faded red velvet seat beside his intended lunchtime companion.

“Chip?” She asked, not bothering to look up from the book she was reading. Some Sherlock Holmes bloke. Draco wasn’t that familiar with his work, but Granger seemed to like them all the same.

“Merlin, yes! You’d swear they’d have me starve on that bloody ward. How do they expect my brain to function without the proper nourishment?” He gratefully took the proffered carton of chips and began to scarf them down at an obscene rate. Hermione looked on in distaste at the display.

“Are you quite certain you’ve not been around Ronald too long? One might be convinced you have no manners.” Draco paused mid bite and raised a dark brow. Hermione held out a paper napkin, which he used to dab at his mouth.

“Don’t be daft, Granger; I’m far better company than that twat you call a friend. How is the ginger oaf these days?”

“Oh hush. Don’t make as if the two of you aren’t becoming fast friends. I’ve heard from Harry that the three of you get on well enough.”

“Yes, well don’t go getting your bloody hopes up. We get on all right.” Hermione smirked at his admission, and Draco felt his heart stutter. Funny thing; that was happening with more frequency. Perhaps he ought to have his heart checked. Just to be safe. He changed the subject; “Has Potter said anything regarding the file I sent with you?” Draco thought he saw her pupils dilate, though it was hard to tell as her eyes were so dark and the room so dim. She raised her hand to tuck a stray curl behind her ear; Draco became momentarily distracted by his racing heart and the sudden urge to repeat the gesture himself. Bloody hell, he really had to get that checked.

“Well, Harry seems to believe you are, in fact, correct in discerning that the victims are not being drugged. Though, he’s still uncertain if the crimes are being committed by a muggle or a wizard. Have you come across any new evidence?” Draco watched as her eyes grew wide with excitement and gave her one of his own signature smirks.

“Granger, have you been reading one too many of this, Sherlock Holmes, fellow’s novels? You know I can’t actually discuss an ongoing investigation. Hermione moved to sit at the edge of her seat, indignant at being put off her line of questioning.

“Well it’s not yet an official investigation by the ministry; is it? Therefore, I think you could safely toe the line.”

“It may not be a ministry matter...yet, but it is under investigation by muggle authorities.” His resolve was slowly eroding. Just how had he reached this point in letting Hermione Granger under his skin.

“Just one little clue? Has there at least been any hope for the victims? Have you made any progress with your findings?” Draco didn’t know how Hermione could have so much room in her heart to care for those she didn’t know; who was he to judge, seeing that he was the healer, er doctor, in charge of their care.

“Granger,” he ran his hands down his tired face, forgetting the grease soaked napkin in his hand. “I’m nowhere near sorting this out. I can’t bloody figure out what is the root cause. Believe me; I want this solved more than you do.” She looked saddened by his words. “Sorry, we’re supposed to be on break. Have you any more chips?”

“Here,” she said, a new edge to her voice, “You can have what’s left of mine. I have to be going?”

“But, we still have fifteen minutes left. Don’t you want to sit and tell me about your book? I could use the distraction, Granger.”

“Maybe another time.” Draco noticed that her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. He stared unseeing, at first, as he mindlessly picked at the carton of lukewarm chips, that is, until, his ears picked up on what the actors on stage were discussing. Funny, he didn’t realize the production they’d been ignoring was a mystery. As the scene played out before him and the actors ran through their lines, talking of murder and motive, a shocking realization dawned on Draco with the precision of a newly sharpened knife. His mind tried to block out the thought; his theory couldn’t possibly be right. But, he had to know if it was possible.

0o0o0o0o0

“Draco, what are you doing here?” Harry asked, as he stood awkwardly in the doorway of his home in the village of Godric’s Hollow.

“You know, Potter, for an auror you can be rather obtuse.”

“You’re one to talk. Got your heart checked yet, or have you finally admitted to yourself what we all know to be true?”

“Oh, piss off. I don’t have to subject myself to this every time I come over.”

“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy. Come in; I was only joking.” Harry laughed, his emerald eyes glinted with glee at having riled Draco. He moved out the way to allow his guest to enter, but ever the git, Draco still made a point of shoving past the other man, not too roughly though. He was raised to be a gentleman, afterall. Harry’s smile only grew wider.  
Draco walked into the house and down the hallway, seeking out what, or rather who, he knew to be the cause of the commotion that only grew louder the further he went. He stood in the entryway to the kitchen, ready to announce himself, but before he could say anything, Potter spoke from behind.

“I didn’t know we had plans.”

“Harry, you know as well as I, that we have a standing engagement with Draco every third Friday of the month...and also any other day or night I deem appropriate.” The all too familiar voice said, as the body it belonged to crouched down in search of some misplaced item in the cupboards. “Ahh! There it is..”

“Hello, Theo.” Draco said, as he tried not to laugh at the dramatic antics of his best friend. Theo straightened his posture and raised his brow in amusement.

“Good to see you, mate. It’s been too long.”

“Theo, we saw each other Monday.” Draco rolled his eyes unknowingly in unison with Harry.

“I’m sorry; what is that I’m hearing?” He cupped his ear for effect. “You’re saying you don’t want to be invited for Christmas? Well, I guess I’ll have to call and cancel the tarte tatin seeing as you’ll no longer be joining us.”

“Bloody Hell.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Harry and Draco stated their disapproval in unison.

“Well, perhaps a little gratitude from the two of you would be appreciated. I do have supper waiting, like the great boyfriend I am.”

“Theo, don’t try to pass this off as your cooking. We all know that your elf would murder you in your sleep if you tried, seeing as you nearly burned down the house the last time you attempted to cook.” Draco challenged as Theo sat. He watched the man place a napkin on his lap before taking a sip of wine. He then proceeded to purse his lips, attempting to keep from spilling his wine as he tried not to laugh.”

“Hmm, yes. She does make quite the show of polishing the knives when I’m around. Bit sadistic don’t you think?”

“I’m not so sure I’d blame her.” Harry spoke up, and Theo’s face remained unchanged as he said,

“Potter, I do believe you know where the couch is located. If not, do make sure you’ve made yourself aware of its location before bedtime.” Harry sent an unamused look at Malfoy, who raised his hands in defense.

“Don’t look at me. You did this to yourself.”

“Quite.” Theo concurred, and the three men began to eat.

After dinner, Theo excused himself to his office claiming he had various documents that needed tending before court Monday morning. Taking that as his cue, Draco asked Harry if he had time to discuss something important.

“You know Malfoy, I’m not a legilimens. So, if you have something to say, it’s best if you just come out with it.” He wasn’t quite sure how to go about gathering answers to his pressing questions, but Draco was nothing if not a Slytherin.

“Have there been any new developments with the case?” He asked as he watched Harry pour two measures of firewhiskey. The dark messy haired man took up both glasses and walked over to him. Draco accepted the libation that was extended; taking a careful sip, he watched as Harry did the same.

“My colleagues believe there is a pattern among the victims suggesting the effects of possible spell damage.”

“And what do you believe?” Draco pressed as he watched the man before him stare at the ground; his lips pinched in angered thought. Harry took time answering the question.

“I see no reason to doubt their findings.”

“There’s something you aren’t saying, Potter. What exactly did you find?” He watched as Harry’s eyes darted back and forth, as though he were playing a game with his decision.

“The findings seem to point to the possibility of a memory charm being used on the victims, a rather strong one.” The answer trickled from Harry’s mouth at a snail’s pace, and Draco watched him rush to take in the rest of his firewhiskey in a vain attempt to replace the words he’d lost. Interesting, but Draco had one last question that he needed answered. He knew that he’d have to tread lightly in his approach.

“Potter, whatever did happen to Granger’s parents? She hasn’t mentioned them, and I know she doesn’t spend holidays with them, seeing as she’s usually in attendance for whatever bash you or the weasel hosts. I’ve noticed she’s been acting a bit off. I wasn’t sure if maybe it was on account of the approaching holiday or…” Draco left the question open for Harry to answer.

“Oh, is a certain someone actually admitting that they have feelings?” Draco could see that the other man was stalling.

“Just answer the bloody question, Potter!”

“Alright, I just didn’t know if I should be the one to give you this information. It’s not exactly my place to do so.” Draco gave him a pointed stare; the bespectacled man continued. “Before everything completely went to shite, before we departed for Dumbledor’s mission, Hermione made a decision that no one should ever have to make. She didn’t know how else to protect her parents; so, she did what she thought best. She used a memory charm to erase herself from their lives, a pretty powerful one, I reckon. She hasn’t even tried to reverse it--” Harry stopped mid speech and stared up at Draco. Recognition dawned it’s harsh rays upon the two men, as Draco made for the coat rack. “Malfoy, wait! There has to be some other explanation for this. It can’t possibly be what you’re thinking.”

“Save it, Harry; we both thought it. I think I’ve found my answer. The question that remains is what are you going to do about it?” Draco gave one last look at his once sworn enemy, and saw the same conflicting emotions across his face as though they’d been directly projected from the confines of his own skull. He met the man's eyes, nodded once and then stepped out into the night, Disapparating without a sound.

0o0o0o0o0

Draco sat waiting, in a large and lumpy chair situated in the corner of a room he’d never had the pleasure of being invited. He should have been at lunch with Hermione, sitting in the seats they usually occupied, but alas, there were more important things to worry about. If he was right, though, he wouldn’t have to wait much longer. Just then, he heard the doorknob turn, and he knew that his world was about to take a monumental shift. In which direction, Draco wasn’t certain.

The woman he’d been waiting for made a mad dash into the flat and rushed down the hallway. She hadn’t bothered to close or lock the door; so, Draco stood slowly, careful not to make a sound and walked eight wide steps before reaching and closing the door. He listened to make sure his unknowing host was still in, what he assumed to be, her bedroom and wordlessly cast a silencing charm. Handy little spell that was that Harry taught him. Afterall, he didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention from prying ears, especially the elderly muggle woman down the hallway who thought it was time that her young neighbor had a boy over. Draco was thankful that he’d been allowed in but concerned with how easy the woman’s trust had been earned. What if he’d been a murderer… Well, nothing like the thought of murder to bring one back to the original purpose for sneaking into someone’s home.

He wasn’t one for polarities; Draco knew that people could commit awful acts while still having good intentions. At one time, he may have disagreed with that statement, but he was older now. He knew that good people sometimes did awful things for reasons that perhaps others might not understand. He’d been there himself, tasked with killing another at the whims of a madman all to keep his family whole, to keep his family safe. Not that they were whole; safe perhaps but never whole. No, that ship had long ago sailed, and for the most part, Draco was fine with that, as fine as he could be under the circumstances. He had people to fill some of his many cracks, like Theo, and Harry bloody Potter, and even the weasel for fuck’s sake. Then Hermione Granger reentered his life, and everything began to change in such a dramatic fashion. He counted down the minutes to their lunches, sometimes dinner depending when the other was available, sometimes both. He now attended holiday gatherings in places he swore he’d never go with people he’d sworn to never like. She had him questioning things like “work life balance” and “where did he see himself in ten years.” The truth was that everyone knew, himself included, that he was done for. Which was why Draco could admit, now, that he was afraid. He was afraid that this had all been some game, that he’d been played for the fool. That she’d only let him get close enough to get what she needed. He glanced to the side table where a neat stack of books had been placed. There, on top was the Sherlock Holmes book he’d seen her reading at lunch, under it were medical journals he’d allowed her to borrow along with books on memory loss and spell damage. He felt like a dunce knowing the signs had been there all along. Draco sat back in the lumpy chair and counted with her approaching footfalls...three...two...one.

“Draco! What are you doing here?” He saw the shock register as Hermione lifted a hand to her chest. He took in her wild curls that seemed to be crackling with her magic and her wide brown eyes filled with fire and tinged with fear.

“I think you and I both know why I’m here, Hermione.” Her eyes widened a little at him calling her by her given name. He’d refrained from doing so before, though he’d wanted to for quite some time. “I know what you’re doing, but why didn’t you ask for help? If not me, any one of your friends would have been more than willing.”

“You wouldn’t understand!”

“Then help me to, Hermione!” Draco watched as she balled her hands into fists and brought them to her eyes, angrily rubbing them across her face. She let out a frustrated cry.

“It’s been years, Draco. Years, and no one would listen. All the experts were saying the same thing. It had been too long. It was too dangerous to attempt the reversal, that the damage would be catastrophic. I grew tired of their rejections, and I grew tired of always being a burden to my friends. So...I took matters into my own hands. I researched every single thing that I thought would possibly help me. I thought maybe if I could use a powerful form of obliviation, I could attempt to mimic the level of memory loss my parents may have. If I could reverse it, I could maybe right another wrong that I’ve done. But… I’ve only succeeded in making matters so much worse.” Through her confession, Draco had watched as she sputtered and stuttered through her tears and frustration. Now, she looked up sobbing hysterically. “I didn’t mean to harm anyone, to kill anyone.” He walked the few steps to reach her, and wrapped Hermione into his arms. Something he’d longed to do under a much different set of circumstances.

“Shhhh. Shhhh. We’ll figure something out.”

“I’m so sorry.” She sniffled into his chest. “I don’t know how I ever let this happen.”

“You were desperate, and desperate people resort to desperate actions. I should know.” Hermione made a face, and he couldn’t help but think of a line he’d read once. “‘The face she made at me was probably meant for a smile. Whatever it was, it beat me. I was afraid she’d do it again, so I surrendered.” He realized he’d do anything for her; so, he told her as much.

“What do you mean you aren’t turning me into the authorities? Draco, they’ll have your job; they’ll arrest you too. I won’t stand for that.” She made to step back from his arms, but he only held her tighter.

“Let me go with you.”

“How did you know I was leaving?”

“For one, I’m not as daft as the witless wonders you have for friends, and what else would you have rushed home for, scrambling around as if someone was after you?” He repeated his request. “Let me go with you.” Draco anxiously waited for her to answer, holding out hope that he’d judged both her and the situation right. He knew he’d won when he saw the breath rush out of her in an almost calm defeat.

“Fine; can you be ready in an hour?”

“I’m ready now.”

0o0o0o0o0

When Draco and Hermione settled into the black car, she latched onto his hand and had squeezed it no fewer than seven times throughout their drive to the airport. He didn’t mind. He knew she was scared; though she put on a brave face. He was quite the opposite, which was an odd feeling. Though, what they were attempting was moralistically gray, Draco felt a sense of calm settle over him. He’d done so much wrong in his life, but if he could, by some small chance, help to right this wrong for Hermione, Draco felt that he’d live happily with whatever consequences arose.

0o0o0o0o0

“Barker family to terminal three for boarding. Qantas Flight #274 London to Sydney.”

A voice rang out over the airport system with the name they’d chosen for the flight reservations. Their hands had remained joined, as the pair traversed the crowds of London Heathrow, but this time it was Draco who, without looking, squeezed Hermione’s hand. She squeezed his in reassurance, before they made their way towards the gates of what fate might have in store for them.

**Author's Note:**

> “The face she made at me was probably meant for a smile. Whatever it was, it beat me. I was afraid she'd do it again, so I surrendered.”  
> ― Dashiell Hammett, The Continental Op


End file.
